


On The Moon's Watch

by ahimsabitches



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: Breeding, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rape/Non-con Elements, Size Difference, this is just nasty y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 13:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19946956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahimsabitches/pseuds/ahimsabitches
Summary: You can take the breeder changeling out of the Darklands, but you can't take the Darklands out of the breeder changeling.





	On The Moon's Watch

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU, Dredda and her sisters were created by Gunmar to be mothers of a new race of trolls that could walk in daylight. Because few beings, even changelings, would submit willingly to a life as a sex slave, Gunmar designed them to have intense heats-- to be unable to cope until they are, eh, satisfied. After a series of unsuccessful pregnancies, Dredda was left for dead. She made it out of the Darklands, joined the Janus Order, and was reassigned to Arcadia.

Dredda, burning, strode through the darkling woods. Thick, pearly clouds jetted out of her nostrils with each exhale and swirled around her curled horns.

She heard Aion’s dream-deep voice in her head: _Breathe, young one, breathe. This suffering will fade. All you must do is breathe the next moment into existence._

But she could not hold the fae-queen’s voice for long; all thought flitted and burned like leaves caught in a gusty wildfire. The inferno deep in her belly raged all the way up her spine to the idiot base of her brain, in which thudded a dull red alarm: _I NEED I NEED I NEED I NEED._

She shook her head and snorted, but only disoriented herself more. She stumbled and fetched up against the rough bole of a second-growth oak. Her own thundering heartbeat roared in her ears. Her nostrils flared but could take in no scent. Her keen slitted eyes were dull and unfocused. Her entire frame shook with unspent energy.

Moina would come into her own heat in just a day or two, and Bular knew her cycle as well as Moina herself did. This was not a good place to be, these woods, and a worse time to be in them.

But here she was. She’d tried to stay near Moina, tried to stay human, tried to at least muffle the worst of that horrible thudding need with Moina’s herbs and the rather vast array of toys she’d acquired in her topside lifetime. But as then, so now: none of it came close to stopping the thudding toll of that horrible bell that had been hung in her without her knowledge, permission, or understanding: _I NEED I NEED I NEED._

She glanced up at the moon, full and heavy and big even at its apogee. It dropped two tiny pinpricks of bonewhite light into the dual yellow lakes of her eyes, eternally overflowing their banks and illuminating her cheeks. Trollsun, the Norwegian trolls had called it, but Dredda thought the changelings needed the moon more than the trolls did. It showed only one face to all who looked on it, but had a secret one. It walked the sky as it pleased; neither night or day could shy it. That was why she’d designed the emblem of the Minerva Order as she had: a human face and a trollish face in profile, looking toward each other instead of away, bound by a twining olive branch, backlit by the pockmarked surface of the moon.

A rope of thick, hot liquid ran down her leg and pulled her back to the present. She filled her lungs to capacity and blew out the sigh on a cloud of smoke. _Breathe, young one._

“Impure.”

For a moment, bluewhite terror froze her to the core and paused even the bonging of the needful bell. Then her heart resumed its thunder, louder and faster. Her guts seemed to unravel and drop, to land in the pit deep in her and fuel the inferno to fever pitch. She made a weak, high noise in her throat.

“I was expecting Moina, but…” the chuckle that sounded behind her was deep as an ocean trench and dangerous as a landslide. “You’ll do.”

 _I NEED, OH I NEED,_ the bell clanged.

This time, the voice that spoke in her head wasn’t Aion but her own, vicious and sibilant. _This is why you’re out here. They made you this way. You still belong to them. He’s why you’re out here._

Heavy footfalls approached from behind her, from where the mountainous voice had come. “Turn. Face me.”

His voice unzipped her spine, swelled the spinning core of heat in her, and set her to trembling again. _He’s why you’re here. Why fight it? You want it._

Unable to stop herself, she turned, slowly, haltingly.

Bular, a massive congealing of the darkness around them, stood fifteen feet from her, his nostrils flaring rhythmically with the reek of her heat, eyes burning with the answer to the clamor inside her. “My father will be angry when he finds out you left her alone,” Bular growled, grinning. The moonlight glittered on a scrim of saliva on his bottom jaw. “I should punish you now.”

The son had ever been crueler than the father, but in some black, shameful part of her brain—close to the needful bell—she wanted the pain. _Needed it_. Conjoined to desire for their cocks was desire for debasement by their hands: an ugly little spore they’d planted in her that had taken well to the reeking dankness in which she’d spent most of her life. Even a hundred and eighty years out of it, the spore and its growth remained.

Speaking took monumental effort. Keeping her voice steady was a losing battle. “You may s-speak for Gunmar on the surfacelands, but it’s not your place to…t-think for him,” she panted.

“My father was always too lenient with you.”

Dredda swallowed. “Don’t mistake m-mercy for…weakness, Bular.”

Bular growled, and Dredda felt it through the earth beneath her feet. He rose from four legs to two; rose four feet into the air. The moonlight highlighted a tented bulge at the front of his leather armor. “Are you going to make me come get you, Impure?”

Quicker, more softly, and more completely than she’d ever switched her physical form, everything in Dredda—everything except the relentless gong of the bell—switched _off._ Slowly but without hesitation, she came to him, another rill of fluid following the track the first had made down her leg.

Bular’s great arm shot out and snatched her right leg out from under her. She squeaked weakly and landed hard on her back, her head whipcracking against the ground. The pain was meaningless and distant. Bular grabbed her other ankle and dragged her toward him until his eyes, red as a dying star, burned directly above her. The drool shining on his lips slid down toward her, as if reaching for her.

Before it could land, Bular spread her legs and licked the heat-fluid from her leg in one long stroke, all the way up her leg from her ankle to the hem of her leather half-trousers. She wheezed a weak cry, the rough rasps on his tongue scraping her smooth skin painfully, deliciously raw. He tugged her trousers down. The metallic snap her belt made as it broke slid in one ear and right out the other one. The belt wasn’t hers. It didn’t matter. _She_ wasn’t hers. The only thing she knew was that she _needed_ , and Bular would fill her.

Bular flung her trousers away. They landed on the lowermost branch of an alder tree and hung there like a poor man’s laundry, the moonlight making where her heat had soaked through the leather gleam darkly.

Unimpeded now, Bular’s tongue finished its journey up the inside of Dredda’s thigh, and the unconscious growl of need from Bular’s chest made Dredda squirm. He licked at her cunt, his raspy paddled tongue scraping at the swollen flesh painfully.

He let go of her right ankle, and Dredda lifted her head to watch him undo his armor. The skirt slid off his hips, catching on his hard cock, then fell away. Dredda licked her lips in a dual submissive and hungering gesture.

Bular’s cock, wider at the base than at the tip, was like the rest of him: rough and ridged with overlapping plates which formed a chevron pointed toward her on the underside of his cock and one pointed back toward him along the upper side. These too were thicker and larger at the base, and looked razor sharp, but Dredda knew they would be soft—relative to his hide at least—and meant for the opposite of pain. The tip was bulbous and curved to a point itself, leaking pearly fluid. His knot was startlingly smooth compared to the rest of him. Below that, the most vulnerable part of him hung, and through the red-hazy soup of Dredda’s mind, a thought zipped like a comet.

_your right leg is free rip his nuks from his body_

But it wasn’t her leg. Wasn’t her thought.

The bulb of fluid at the tip of his cock grew a tail and ran down the underside of it. Dredda’s head sagged back to the leaf litter. Bular’s left arm landed like a pillar by her right ear and the black, heavy bulk of him eclipsed the moon again. His dying-star eyes scorched her skull. She opened her mouth to speak, but there was sandpaper in her throat and no words in her brain and Bular’s cock smeared his fluid on her thigh as he drew close to her. “I never liked breeding you, Impure,” he rumbled close to her ear. His breath smacked her nose with the reek of rotting meat. “But my father still wants a Daywalker from you.”

_And I’ll give him one oh I’ll give I’ll do anything oh please Bular I need please Bular I NEED_

She bared her teeth in a submissive snarl and bucked her hips toward him, whimpering desperately. He laughed deep in his chest. “You’re pathetic,” he said, and then pushed his cock inside her.

She shrieked in delight and pain and triumph, and Bular’s heavy stony hand clamped down over her mouth, cutting off her scream.

“ _Silence_ , Impure,” he growled. “If you draw any humans to us I’ll unzip your belly and hang you with your guts.”

She gripped his tree-trunk wrist with both hands, not knowing whether she wanted him to keep his hand where it was or remove it. It didn’t matter, not now that she had him on top of her and his cock inside her. He pulled out and pushed into her again, the motion made maddeningly smooth by her own softened, soggy cunt. His cock _was_ rough; _wonderfully_ so. The ridges rippled over the inside of her cunt one way as he pulled out and another as he thrust in, and beneath her hand, a full-toothed grin-snarl of pleasure and submission split her face.

Bular set a jerky, punishing rhythm. It _hurt_ when he punched his hips forward; each thrust mulekicked her lungs and, with his hand still splayed over her mouth, made it near impossible to draw a full breath. But the pain was part of the pleasure, part of him, part of them, part of her, and she rolled her legs open as far as they would go, her knees brushing her ribs, and he hadn’t even knotted her yet but she knew that when he did they both would get what they wanted.

Suddenly the weight on her face lifted. She willed her eyes to focus on the bull above her; Bular with his eyes closed was nothing but a black hulk, groaning like a boulder about to split. He clutched her hips and reared up, taking her bottom half with him. Her back bent in a painful arch but she could no more change it than she could pluck the moon from the sky.

The moon…

No longer blocked by Bular’s bulk, it arrowed its cold secondhand light down through the spidery midwinter trees to Dredda. It jiggled up and down in the sky in time with Bular’s rhythm.

Dredda blinked. The moon wasn’t supposed to _jiggle._

The inferno flared in her again, but this time it did not come from her belly. It came from a place just below her heart, and it burned _black._

The moon was supposed to glide across the sky, to hold its light and shine it into the dark.

The moon was supposed to inspire others to do the same. The moon was supposed to be the watchful presence that kept things like _this_ from happening to women like her. Like _Moina_.

It wasn’t supposed to _jiggle._

Dredda’s lips peeled back from her teeth in a feral snarl. Quick as a fae arrow, she twisted her right hip out of Bular’s grip and pistoned that leg into his belly. The air left his lungs in an explosive cough and he dropped her. Dredda backflipped to her feet, spun, and launched herself into a sprint.

“ _IMPURE_!” Bular roared behind her. The ground shook with his galloping footfalls. Dredda ran, banking and weaving through the maze of hibernating trees, but the only change in Bular’s pursuing sounds was the brutal _crunch_ of trunk as he plowed straight through any tree standing in his way.

Dodging between the trees with deerlike grace, Dredda ran until her lungs burned, until she could see the orange glow of the sodium arc streetlamps on Peach Street shining through the trees. She wouldn’t be safe there, but Moina would. She’d led Bular in the opposite direction from Moina’s little cave, and if she were _very_ lucky, a car would drive past at just the right moment and hit Bul—

A claw closed around Dredda’s neck. She opened her mouth to scream. It _clamped_ down.

Bular hauled her back at the edge of the forest, the clean, manicured sidewalks of Peach Street not twenty feet in front of her. She whipsawed her body like a crocodile, nothing in her—nothing _of_ her—but deep black rage, the darker, more corrupted cousin to the spore of lust they’d planted in her. Bular pitched her like a baseball back into the woods and before she could gain her feet he was on top of her again, his heavy clawed hand at her throat instead of her mouth. He roared into her face, and if Dredda had had any presence of mind, she’d have told him that if he drew any humans to them she’d unzip his belly and hang him with his guts.

But she had no presence of mind. She scrabbled and flailed in his grip, her back claws gouging deep rivets in the earth instead of his flesh and the ones on her hands plunging into his arm to no effect. She snapped at him, but her teeth clicked on only empty air. She tried to shriek, to roar, to call all the cold fury of the moon down on Bular, but the only sound that escaped her compressed throat was an impotent gurgle.

The twin red suns of Bular’s eyes once more eclipsed the moon. Marvelously, he was smiling. “Nice try, Impure.” He pressed down on her throat a little more, cutting off a little of her air now. “But I’m going to finish this. I’m going to remind you _exactly_ whose will you work as long as you crawl the skin of this world.”

She felt no fear, only another pulse of rage, and renewed her thrashing. But Bular’s grip was iron and the weight of him was mountainous, and soon her lungs began to burn again. She felt her limbs grow sluggish and heavy. Blackness gathered at the corners of her vision and brilliant white starbursts exploded in front of her eyes.

She kicked feebly once, and could no more. The darkness rushed in on her…

And then she was free. She tore a breath from the air with such force that her entire body convulsed, and convulsed again as the cold air hit her lungs and lit them up with a different kind of fiery agony. She curled to her right side and coughed until she felt something high in her ribs let go with an agonizing _twang._

Something hard and sharp drove itself into her back between her shoulderblades, and her spine lit up with crackling agony. She croaked weakly, the best she could get to a scream.

“On your belly, Impure, where you belong.”

Tears stinging her eyes and saliva threaded with blood dripping from her mouth, she did as she was bid. There were knives in her ribs and glass in her spine. She had barely come to rest on her knees and elbows than Bular grabbed her hips again and pounded into her.

Like all good fires, Dredda’s rage needed air to fan it, and Bular’s relentless grip had neatly extinguished it. He resumed his rhythm as if there had been no interruption. Dredda’s body had missed the memo about being angry. It was still in heat, and it responded on its own to Bular’s cock. Dredda groaned, in pain and exhaustion, in resignation and frustration, in anger and lust.

_This is why you’re here this is why they made you this is who you are this is all you’ll be_

The voice, her own and not, slid through her mind like a new-birthed snake.

_Breathe, young one. This suffering will pass._

_I NEED I NEED I NEEDINEEDINEED_

Bular’s throaty rut-sounds set the needful bell tolling again, and the feeling of his cock rippling through her, at each instroke touching a coal of pure lust, energized her again. Instead of ripping them free, she curled her legs up and around his hips, as tight as they would go, and pushed herself up on her hands to deepen the angle of her cunt. The glassy pain in her spine and ribs was far off and meaningless.

“I knew you’d come around,” Bular chuckled and closed a fist in her hair. “All you needed was a little _tenderizing._ ” He jerked back on her hair and her hands left the ground. She grinned a snarl of pain, her eyes pulled to nearly-closed slits, but did not struggle. Her spine was once again arched to its limit, and she knew tomorrow the pain would be intense. But it wouldn’t be as much, by half, as that which she’d already endured.

Bular went down on his knees, wrapped the hand that wasn’t gripping her hair around her stomach and tipped them both backward. Her back landed against his belly, and her gravity was enough to pull her down over his knot.

They both moaned; him like a revving truck, her like a frightened animal. Bular let go of her hair and gripped her throat again, not to choke this time but to hold her against him.

Dredda, filled with _I NEED_ and filled with the fulfillment of that need, ground her cunt against his cock and tipped her head back. Her curled horns collided with his, but neither of them heard the gentle _clackclack_ sounds they made. Their breaths puffed out of their mouths in swirling dragonsmoke clouds and twined together beautifully in the shafts of silvery moonlight.

A sound began in Bular’s chest, a landslide sound, that was the same but viscerally different than before, and Dredda knew what was coming. He released her, and a second later shoved her facefirst into the leaf litter. He came down hard on top of her, close enough for his breath to flutter the leaves beside her head. His thrusts deepened and slowed; every time he pulled his knot out of her he growled as if demanding the return of a precious thing. Dredda scrabbled in the leaf litter again, but this time she scrabbled _backward_ , pushing herself as close to him, as far down on his cock, as she could get, because Bular’s growl had an echo in her and it began the inferno again but this time she knew it would burn through her and she had never wanted anything more in her life she had never _needed_ anything else--

_I NEED I NEED I NEEDINEEDOHPLEASEINEED“Oh please oh please I need—Bular--!”_

She did have voice to scream then, but seconds later Bular latched onto the back of her neck with his teeth.

Dredda’s scream cut off as neatly as a guillotine slice and her mouth snapped shut so hard it made her vision waver for an instant. Her body froze instantly.

She screamed in her mind, screamed as Bular drove himself into her, as the orgasm finally tore through every inch of her, sizzling her nerve endings and burning her brain in whitehot ecstasy so sublime it was agony.

The sound in Bular’s chest cycled up to a full throated roar despite the grip he had on her hair and flesh. He slammed into her once more and bellowed mightily. His cock pulsed in her once, twice, again and again, and she snarled soundlessly, this time in victory.

Bular slowly subsided, his roar in her ear quieting, his knot in her cunt shrinking, and his jaws on her neck loosening. Dredda stayed put even after he released her, panting and trembling as the echoes of her orgasm blew through her.

When he slid, deflated, out of her, she cried out, the needful bell chiming one last time. But Bular neither shouted or struck. Instead, he grabbed her by the ankle again and hauled her up until she dangled above the ground like a deer ready for dressing. She let herself be lifted, too weak and sated to complain even when the bloodrush in her head began a pounding headache.

With two fingers, Bular scooped up the come that dripped down the front of her cunt and pushed it back in. Flecks of mica-like iridescence suspended in the milky fluid flashed in the moonlight.

“I don’t have anything to cork you up with, Impure,” Bular rumbled, his voice deep but void of threat. “Should I hang you up on a tree? Or should I find a pole to sit you down on?”

Dredda said nothing, only dangled from his grip, empty of rage, empty of lust, empty of herself but for the last echoes of the orgasm and the returning echoes of her broken rib, bruised spine, and aching throat.

“Pathetic,” Bular spat, and let her tumble bonelessly to the forest floor.

Dredda lay still, Bular’s come cooling as it leaked out of her, and listened to his thumping footfalls recede. After the forest fell silent, she counted to five thousand.

Groaning as fireworks of pain went off all through her body, she rolled onto her side and gingerly hauled herself up to a sitting position. She blinked at the moonlit forest around her, as if seeing its silverlit trees and inky shadows for the first time. Her winter-fogged breath wreathed her head.

Tears, made molten silver by the moonlight, slipped down her cheeks. She angled her head up at the moon, which had slid west since she’d last glimpsed it. It sat in the sky, still and silent as a dead man’s gaping eye.

_This suffering will fade._

_Until the next time because you know there’ll be a next time because this is why they made you_

She took a deep breath. The air hurt her lungs and she coughed it out. “That suffering will fade too,” she croaked to the moon.

It wasn’t jiggling anymore, at least.


End file.
